


fire, fire, fireworks

by sungchanery



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Because they're gay, Ferris Wheels, Fireworks, Fluff, Gratuitous Soft Teen Romance, M/M, MCD, Phineas and Ferb References, Summer Fairs, Summer Romance, a churro dies, a moment of silence, bumper cars, but it stands for major churro death, hand holding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:47:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27623591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sungchanery/pseuds/sungchanery
Summary: Chenle and Jisung take turns to shake each other's worlds; and when the glitter in their globes settles, that's when their story starts.
Relationships: Park Jisung/Zhong Chen Le
Comments: 20
Kudos: 30





	1. of cherries, popcorn and one single shrimp thought

**Author's Note:**

> [twenty one pilots voice] all my fics are songfics take it slow 
> 
> this is small and tender and cute and it has some _Vibes_ that are really, Really dear to me so [gently cradles] i leave this fic in ur care <3 treat it nicely <3 
> 
> as i said, **loosely** inspired by fall out boy's fourth of july; fireworks, _"you are my favorite what if you are my best i'll never know"_ s and LOTS of teen gay yearning for u <3 it tastes rly sweet so BONE APPLE TEETH 
> 
> there's more to it, yes . they meet Again . and you will See It Soon. 
> 
> until then, hope u enjoy!

Colors flash all around him and he lets himself get lost in the colorful gleam of it all; just another child in a ball pit. The ferris wheel stops once it reaches its peak and his legs dangle, second-hand red converse floating over the small summer fair. It feels nice.

It feels nice, having the entire world under your feet. 

He pays for another round, not ready to let the feeling go just yet. The man unceremoniously lets the bar of his booth click close; but he is stopped by a gentle hand around his wrist. 

“One round, please,” the boy smiles, out of breath, and Chenle’s world, kiosks in a glitter globe, shakes a tiny bit. He sits next to him and his knees bump on the safety rail as the man secures it once more, pocketing his money. Chenle can’t help but laugh as the boy can’t seem to get comfortable in any way in the cramped seat. 

“What’s so funny?” 

“Why do you have all this leg for?” 

The man pulls the lever and Chenle’s world gets kicked in orbit for the fifth time that night.

“Uh—why do  _ you  _ have all this leg for?”

“Come on, this can’t be all you have,” Chenle turns in the crowded stall, knee digging in the boy’s thigh, making him shrink towards his side of the seat. “Try again.”

“Why, uhm, why—why do you have all this—” He talks more with his hands than with his mouth. His perfect, little chapped-lipped mouth. There’s a single sugar grain on his cupid’s bow. “All this  _ face.”  _

“What’s wrong with my face?” 

“I—nothing wrong with your face. It’s—I mean—”

“It is  _ what?” _

Riling him up must be the most entertaining thing Chenle has gotten to do in his aunt’s house this entire summer, aside from eating tater tots with sriracha at five am and rewatching Rick n’ Morty. His mom doesn’t let him have frozen things at home when he can have, like, broccoli instead; so now it’s his chance to go wild.

The boy next to him squirms in place once again and another color is added in Chenle’s little colorful world; settles right on the apples of the boy’s cheeks, pink and light and  _ perfect. _

“It’s—well. A really nice face. As nice as faces can be.”

The color threatens to tint Chenle’s cheeks too. But he won’t let it. Not just yet. Not if he can help it.

“Faces can be nice, you know. Really nice. And pretty.”

“I know,” he mutters and the pink becomes magenta on his sun-kissed face. There’s a strip of light skin around his wrist, right beneath a worn out concert bracelet. Reputation Stadium. Taylor Swift. Chenle looks down from where they are and wonders if he can make the fall if he flees now; but keeps his eyes on the boy’s face instead. It feels safer, for the time being. 

“What’s your name?”

“Jisung.”

“Well,  _ Jisung,”  _ Chenle tries the name between his lips; it feels nice. He lets it slip right in his little world, under the light from the pop-corn machine, right next to the cherry slushies. “Is my face pretty?”

He sees a hundred small fireworks going off behind Jisung’s face.  _ Pop, pop, pop  _ they go, the moment the sky above them ruptures and lets explosive colors spill out too. Chenle thrums with the energy it all brings; gets reminded of that one Discovery Channel documentary his aunt has recorded. Shrimp can see ten more colors than him, than Jisung, than any of them. He looks into Jisung’s eyes — now reflecting all those hues Chenle can see and all those he can’t — and for a single, passing second he wishes he could turn into a shrimp right then and there; just for a glimpse of that palette he can’t even dream of right off this boy’s eyes. 

It’s a weird thought; but sets Chenle off like a pop-corn machine all the same.  _ Pop, pop, pop;  _ right underneath his chest. The ferris wheel comes to a halt the minute Jisung parts his lips to talk, sending warm pink all over Chenle’s face right when he least wants to. 

“It’s pretty,” Jisung’s lip corners rise with the clue of a smile. “It’s green here,” he lifts a finger, pointing right where the fireworks cast their sheen on Chenle’s forehead. “Now, blue here,” the finger moves down to his chin as another explosion paints the night sky in the colors of the morning. Jisung’s smile widens; mirthful on the surface, mischief ridden beneath of it. Chenle wants to bite it right off his face. “And a whole lot of red here. You’re blushing.”

“No  _ you’re  _ blushing,” Chenle’s mouth retorts fast, before his shrewd brain can catch it. Dammit, pretty boys and their way with words. Jisung chuckles and Chenle glowers at him — he can and he  _ will  _ bite his grin off. Watch him. 

“Now, now. What’s  _ your  _ name?”

“It’s Chenle.”

“Well, this time,  _ Chenle,  _ I think you’re the one who can do better.” 

_ This time _ , though, Chenle secures a grip on his little, shimmering world before Jisung can get his big, bony, churro sugar sticky hands on it and rattle it whole. If Chenle can only see red, blue and green, that’s more than okay, more than enough. Red, by itself, is what Chenle needs the most; determined to set his eyes on every shade of it he can. And he starts from Jisung’s face.

“I’ve never been kissed on a ferris wheel. Have you?”

_ Pop, pop, pop.  _ Cherry slushies spill on Jisung’s cheeks. Peace is restored in the little globe of Chenle’s. He grabs the popcorn — still filling him up — and watches the show. 

“Y—you haven’t? Huh. Cool.” 

“Have  _ you,  _ Jisung?”

They start moving, descending. But Chenle keeps floating as every thought of kissing Jisung crosses his mind. There must be more sugar on his lips; sugar and chocolate and grease. Chenle  _ loves  _ churros. He thinks he will love them even more straight from a boy’s lips. 

“Not really,” Jisung fiddles with a stray thread on his jeans and keeps his eyes on his lap, letting Chenle feed his ego with his resurfaced nervousness. It’s his doing and he deserves to bask in it; so Chenle does, openly so. Another tinge of red blooms on the canvas that Jisung’s cheeks are. 

“Do you want to?” 

The man yawns above their heads as he reaches out, bar freeing them both from the metal confines of the booth; and Jisung’s heavy breath dies in his chest along with their moment. His knees crack when he gets up and Chenle winces, already mourning his own after twenty minutes of constant, uncomfortable stillness. He looks up, searching for any splashes of the color in Jisung’s eyes, cherries on his skin, popcorn popping behind his face and he finds them, before Jisung pulls them out of his reach.

He shouldn’t have let him in his world, he then realizes. Now he owns a piece of it too; and it’s on him what he decides to do with it. 

“I gotta go,” he says with a scratch on his nape and a frown, as if he is sad that he snatches what Chenle built right off his fingers. “But—here, have this. Keep it.” 

Chenle sees him run away, finally finding the point behind having legs for days. 

“Will you go again, kid?” 

It’s a ticket; a wrinkled, unused, red fair ticket.  _ Prize  _ —  _ unlimited bumper car rides,  _ black letters read when Chenle, still in his ferris wheel booth — the one with the rusty number seven on the side like every year — skims his eyes over it. 

“Come on kid, we don’t have all night,” the man, voice as nondescript as ever, shakes him out of his reverie, getting him on shaky, numb legs. He thanks him and walks away, eyes still on the ticket. 

In Jisung’s world, Chenle now has a spot of his own. Jisung’s turn is over; and it’s now Chenle’s chance to sweep Jisung off his feet. 


	2. of bumper cars, churros and platypus shenanigans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And when Crash Bandicoot finds his inevitable death and respawns right in front of Chenle's eyes, he thinks that in games, every fall out means a chance to try again and that every chance to try again leads to victory.
> 
> And if tonight taught him anything, is that Jisung looks the prettiest after a win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me? uploading a SECOND CHAPTER for a fic? not neglecting it for two years? who is she?

It isn't hard to find Jisung in a crowd, all things considered.

He's tall, he's pretty and he has that one lost expression on his face which is so inherently  _ Jisung  _ that Chenle chuckles to himself when he sees his messy honey blond head sticking out in a crowd of impatient parents and even more impatient children.

"Hey, long legs."

Jisung doesn't seem to recognize him at first, but that's cool, because Chenle gets to witness the wonder turning to nervous recognition turning to something pleasant on Jisung's features — and that sets Chenle in an internal frenzy like that one first time, yesterday.

He ended up walking home instead of taking the last bus, still toasting himself in the warmth their encounter blanketed him with. Rejection aside, he didn't regret his boldness; he never does. He's sure in what he does, in the way he carries himself, in what his brain decides to let his mouth spit out and even if it fails him at moments, it's all good. He has his ways and he stands by them. Always. It's a motto of sorts, if he cared about things like that — if you fuck up, own up to it.

In retrospect, the Jisung thing wasn't that much of a fuck up, was it? He  _ did  _ get unlimited bumper car rides and he is gonna use the fuck out of them, with a Jisung to beat or not.

But here is Jisung tonight, right where he dreamt about meeting him, looking right back at Chenle with eyes glimmering full of the glitter specks he stole from Chenle's world the day before. They light his face up and almost push Chenle to stare; but he won't make the same mistake twice. He hopes he has learned a thing or two about Jisung now, about how he lays low, brain cog wheels turning and turning and when they finally  _ click,  _ then, that's the endgame. Chenle is not ready to leave this fair without at  _ least  _ an indirect kiss from Jisung's slushie straw. Not tonight.

So he takes the brave decision to take back what's his.

"Hey, Chen—"

A kiss on the cheek. Jisung may have started the game, pawn taking a piece of Chenle's and replacing it with a piece of himself, but Chenle is wearing his checkered old skool Vans tonight and that should give him some kind of advantage in this unconventional round of chess — hypothetically. He's not much of a chess player. But it's a game after all, and when it comes to games? That's Chenle's territory, if his PUBG rank is anything to go by.

"Hello, Jisung. Cool to see you here."

"I—right. It's cool—I kind of were—well, waiting for you." He waves a ticket in his hand, same as Chenle's. Unlimited bumper car rides. For a moment, Chenle wonders where one can find something like that this freely, but Jisung beats him to it. "Was here—uhm, for a half? Maybe a couple of hours. Bump won this. Cool, right?"

"Bump won?"

"You know," Jisung shrugs in an effort to be nonchalant and the tiniest smile settles on his small, heart-shaped lips; he looks proud. Too bad Chenle is going to break his winning streak soon. "Bumped on some carts, they bumped back on mine. Many carts, actually. Enough to win twice."

Chenle turns to face the rink, the once ongoing round coming to an end and a swarm of people walking out of the carts on their way to explore the rest of the festival after catering to their children's whims and saving themselves the whining. He sees Jisung gesturing towards the empty cart rink's direction and when Chenle doesn't get the memo, he pinches two fingers on the sleeve of his denim jacket, nudging him in.

"So, are you some kind of some bumper car master? What's your trick?"

Chenle lets himself get pulled in and Jisung speaks again when they're amongst a sea of colorful bumper cars, the gloss of their varnish faded away with each crash and time. He eyes them calculatively until he settles for a green cart with the almost holographic number seven on the side.

"Not telling. I wouldn't be a master if I did."

"Guess I'll have to see how you're kicking all those ten-year-olds' asses for myself, then."

"Hey—that's—don't underestimate them until you've seen them little monsters. They're vicious."

"Sure they are, champ. Now stand up."

Jisung's eyebrows furrow and Chenle is not sure if it is because of the sarcasm, the uncalled for command or because Jisung's face seems to almost always be scrunched in some kind of frustration. It gives Chenle the itch to press his thumb in the bumped up skin between his brows, rub it in place; just to see how Jisung would look without the effects of his constant inner turmoil.

"What? You're sitting in my cart."

"Huh—how is this your cart?! I sat here first—"

"Seven,” Chenle unceremoniously points at its side, “my favorite. Come on, I'll buy you churros if you give it to me."

The offer brings back the stolen glitter in Jisung’s eyes, even when his lips are puckered up into a little, disappointed pout. Chenle wants to try harder, push Jisung's limits a bit closer to the edge, kick them off the cliff and see what Jisung can do when he is free-falling. After he provokes him again and again and  _ again _ . He keeps it as a thought for later.

For now, he wants to  _ win. _

"You promise?"

"No,” Chenle chuckles, devious. “But you'll stand up anyways, won't you?"

Jisung makes way for Chenle to jump in, leaving the cart for another, red, shinier one two carts farther with a surrendered sigh and Chenle internally gives himself a pat on the back because, _ damn;  _ he is way too good at this game. He indulges himself in the thought that maybe settling for a slushie straw kiss is too little. He turns determined to taste the slushie off Jisung's lips himself, instead. 

"Are you ready, racers?" 

The man behind the cramped booth speaks with practiced enthusiasm, repeating a phrase he must have had to yell out a mundane amount of times tonight. Chenle feels the steering wheel under his clammy palms — grimy, flimsy, but holding his chances of victory and a good night in its plastic and its loosened screws — and Jisung, in his peripheral vision, does the same. It's like a déjà vu; how Jisung's knees, no matter where he is, will always be in the way. Tonight he is in his element, Chenle entertains a thought — bumping knees in bumper cars.

"Ready, set,  _ go!" _

With the shrill of a whistle the lights around them flash; and the ride is on.

Kids cheer as their little hands grasp on the wheel from where they're buried in their parents' protective embrace, a safe space to unleash their energy. Chenle needs no protection, though, not anymore. He is old enough and that — unfortunately for his poor,  _ poor  _ parents — means that he can go absolutely,  _ batshit  _ crazy.

And he does, he really does. His foot stomps on the gas pedal to set his car to life and with a turn of the wheel he slips right where the action roars in full force. He scans the rink for openings, for a chance to strike, for a narrow path to get away from the ones that want to pay him back for it. For the first time in days, he has  _ fun _ — the game kicks off the adrenaline in his brain and heightens his senses, plasters an exhilarated grin on his face and fuels every cell of his with gasoline-like competitiveness. Jisung didn't lie about a damn thing — those kids  _ are  _ vicious, locking on a target and not letting go until they have driven them in a desperate corner — and in masterful precision, so does he. Jisung is fast; too fast for Chenle’s eyes to follow around the rink with his attention divided among him and his other overgrown and thirsty for victory toddler rivals.

Their eyes meet once and Chenle sees it as a chance to move to the next step of his plan.

When he said that he wants to give Jisung a bump and shake him off his orbit, he was quite undoubtedly, literal.

The path clears for him and he steps and twists the sole of his foot right on the gas, fists curled around the steering wheel, cart surging forward towards the one and only person he wants to steal the crown from tonight — and Jisung seems to be sharing the sentiment. He is unwavering, eyes centering in on a single spot and cart closing in at full speed, nerves tensing, prepared for the head-on collision.

They crash; and everything  _ shakes _ .

Legs, hands, the carts themselves, the world around them — everything shakes and it punches the air out of their lungs. They gasp, chest expanding and after that, they just — laugh. Unbridled, uncontrollable laughter. The two of them right in the middle of the rink, blocking the way just to have their moment; the eye of the storm versus the whirlwind of people and carts crashing and bouncing back in an endless loop.

Sound blares all around them, signaling their round over, but they're not done laughing. They keep going; even when the man from before announces the winners — a kid with chocolate stains on his shirt and his unimpressed older brother — they keep going, doubling over from laughter, stomach muscles contracting and sending pleasure laced pain all over.

Their laughter dies with the sound of the second round starting, another flash of rainbow spotlights and the force of brand new players bursting their bubble. They stay for another two rounds themselves, taking full advantage of the prizes Jisung won them and settling their score —  _ "Churros for the winner!",  _ Jisung yells from the other end of the rink on their last round and Chenle drives his cart right on Jisung's side as an affirmation — and when they're out, in Chenle's absolute dismay, Jisung rises victorious.

"You did well. For an amateur," Jisung speaks around a dipped in thick chocolate, sugary churro courtesy of, well, the loser of the night. "Challenging the master wasn't your best idea."

"Just eat your churro, long legs," Chenle retorts with a scoff, shoving his hands in his pockets and petulantly kicking a little pebble his shoe meets on the ground with all the child-like pettiness he can muster. He is not above sulking, especially when the current bane of his existence is rubbing his once again claimed crown in Chenle's face with his stupidly long, greasy fingers. 

"I have a name, you know," Jisung complains but doesn't seem fazed by the snappy comment; on the contrary, he looks like he is just  _ enjoying  _ Chenle's saltiness and that single fact is poking on Chenle's pride like a loose spring under a mattress.

But, between them, Chenle is the one laying the sheets down. And he plans on sleeping on that mattress really,  _ really  _ well tonight.

"Oh, for real? Kinda hard to guess when you have been referring to yourself as "master" all night."

"That's—"

"Hey, look at that!" Chenle's eyes fall on the shooting game booth right behind a lady selling cartoon shaped helium balloons and Jisung cuts his sentence short to try and check the place out right behind them. That's what he gets for being a beanstalk, Chenle smiles to himself as he grabs Jisung's wrist, tugging him towards the crowded stall.

"Hey, Chenle, I don't really—uhm, think that—"

"You know how to play, don't you?"

Chenle stops right in front of the row of unloaded guns and Jisung, in tow behind him, stumbles and falls on Chenle's back. That costs him a churro, dirt and sugar sticking on the sad, sad dough on the ground and Jisung's face falls, adorably so, mourning the loss of his favorite prize. One part of Chenle tugs on his chest with satisfaction — it's mean and it's even pettier than before but it's also delicious, the taste only a fat, plump  _ "suck it"  _ can bring on one's tongue — but the other part washes over his mental taste buds and leaves him hungry for that single, blinding smile that lodged on Jisung's face when the girl behind the churro stand was drizzling praline all over his well deserved treat.

"Well, not exactly—I sure can try, but—no. Not really."

"Well that's great," Chenle shrugs, fingers rummaging in his pocket for a five-dollar bill to pay for a game, "just sit here and watch—don't look at the churro, Jisung, it won't come back to life. Look at me."

The audible  _ click  _ of the gun he gets his hands on compels Jisung to pay attention and if that doesn't do it, the way he snaps the gun barrel back in place with a flick of his wrist, loaded and ready, certainly does the trick and keeps Jisung's eyes right where Chenle wants them. He assesses his targets; he can pick and choose his poison — cans, slots and a pretty worn down circle target in the middle of the wooden wall — and with a glance on the prizes he knows exactly where and what to shoot at.

Five calculated snaps of Chenle's finger on the trigger and five disgustingly accurate holes on the target later and Jisung leans against the booth's counter on his tiptoes and reclaims his second prize for the night.

(And at the same time, a vindicated Chenle is mentally scratching off the  _ Jisung smile  _ entry from his  _ Jisung things to reap and sow  _ mental list pinned on his brain corkboard.)

"You got me a Perry the Platypus plushie."

"I sure did," Chenle agrees even though he doesn't need to, because Jisung is sure as hell holding Doofenshmirtz's half-meter long archenemy in his arms. It matches with his shirt and Chenle feels another wave of pride swelling inside, along with something else, something sweeter, something he has felt before while his legs were hanging off the ground and the entire summer fair was smaller than himself.

That same  _ thing  _ threatens to jump out and pull Jisung down from his insanely long neck for the nastiest, churro tasting kiss when in the spur of the moment, Jisung lets his plushie go and does the single most outrageous thing he has done ever since he plopped next to Chenle on that damn ferris wheel a night ago. A brush on his fingers against Chenle's own; a shy graze of dry knuckles on his fingertips and the gaps in between their fingers slot together, the unbearable heat of July getting trapped in between their palms.

Jisung isn't looking at him when Chenle's head snaps up and he dares to blush when Chenle squeezes his fingers, tightening the hold. They walk like that, their linked hands bumping against their thighs and Jisung's anxiety-ridden legs messing up their step whenever Chenle tries mirroring it in vain. There's so long they can stay like that until they have to part ways and Chenle belatedly realises that he is already too far from his own bus stop for comfort.

"You should consider lending me your legs because there is no way I'll reach the bus stop in time like that," Chenle breaks the small crystals of ice that had started forming in between them despite the summer heat and Jisung sighs in content, breathing out a tiny chuckle of relief as an answer to Chenle's joke. He doesn't let go of his hand when he halts; he keeps holding it just as tightly as before, testing Chenle's resolve, cracking it right where he can't even begin to mend it, where not even a block of Shin ramen and a whole lot of sandpaper can't do the trick.

"Do you think they have Phineas and Ferb too? We can just go ask them to, like, come up with something for you. You know, discovering something that doesn't exist—"

"Or giving a monkey a shower."

_ "Or giving a monkey a shower!" _

"A shower, right," Chenle croaks out in between an ugly laugh paired with an unattractive snort that Jisung matches perfectly with his own. "Exactly what I need right now."

Jisung's smile remains but nervousness tints it above everything else and Chenle, for once, feels the same little bump of skin forming right between his own two eyebrows. He is not the one to back away, though. Not when he has finally reached the final and most vital stage of his masterplan — the masterplan that now is nothing but scribbles on scribbles in his brain after everything that Jisung managed to throw his way in the span of three mere hours.

"So—"

"Can I ask you again?"

Chenle's boldness laced words are a reflection of him and everything he holds inside and Jisung finds himself drawn to it, eyes wide, taken aback. He fiddles with the tail of his ridiculously large Perry as he nods, knowing but still expectant. Chenle follows his fingers, the way they hold the entirety of Jisung's stress and hesitance right behind the fingernails and ironically, that calms Chenle down and makes him take the plunge.

"Would you kiss me, Jisung?"

It's like a rollercoaster ride, Chenle figures when the question slips out of his chapped lips and settles heavy in between them. Jisung's breath hitches, the way it does when on the edge of the scariest ride of one's life, the train stopping for a lone, brief moment before it slides down the rails, sending everyone into a screaming craze. You know what's going to happen; and yet, the heart does what the heart wants, and right now, both their hearts want to leave their fucking chest and there is no way to stop them.

Jisung takes a step forward, closing the gap, towering over Chenle like that terrifying track of loops and slopes and turns that take your breath away. Chenle knows that getting on will be an experience out of this world, but it is one that now scares him out of his mind.

He has kissed boys before; at parties he wasn't supposed to be, under the bleachers while his friend was having the most important match of his high school baseball career and everywhere else in between. But something about Jisung feels weirdly new, different,  _ exciting _ .

(Like that one pineapple pizza topping Chenle would never think to try by himself, but once Jaemin force fed it to him on a dare, he swore by it forever. He wonders if his aunt will hear if he secretly microwaves some pizza poppers when he gets home. He hopes she won't.)

Chenle's thoughts snap back on track with Jisung's sweet smelling breath against his cheek and he kicks every form of pizza out of his brain just to fill the empty crevices with Jisung instead, mental pen clicked and ready to squiggle the last item on his list off of it forever, steal what was stolen, merge their worlds together even if it lasts a month and a half before it ends.

And exactly like a rollercoaster, when you think you're safe, another twist comes and shifts your world upside down.

"Shit," Jisung whispers centimeters away from Chenle's lips, the headlights of the last bus that can safely take him home blinding Chenle for a moment before it abruptly comes to a halt right in next to them, doors open for seconds before its engine roars again.

Jisung curses more under his breath, confining the rest of the words that threaten to leave his mouth behind his teeth with a bite of his lip and a fist digging deep into his Perry plushie's cotton flesh. He backs away, leaving Chenle standing in the middle of nowhere, at an empty bus stop too far from his own and with his first and strongest desire once again out of his reach.

Chenle is speechless. As Jisung sputters and fidgets, he remains speechless and his lips are sealed and  _ kissless,  _ so damn kissless that it drives him mad and doesn't let him process the fact that he is now holding the gift that he so generously — and under that, selfishly — won for Jisung to keep.

"W—what's—why, Jisung?"

There is no time for words and he knows it though he can't help but search for a reason why Jisung does that, a reason why Jisung's bus is almost ready to leave, a reason why nobody is appearing out of a bush to tell him that hey, this is all a prank and that he has won a Razer headset as compensation for all the emotional damage the situation brought.

This is a joke, a big, old joke that has gone stale and Chenle can't believe his eyes when he sees Jisung pressing a kiss on Perry the Platypus's cheek instead of  _ his  _ and his ears when he hears the rushed words that leave Jisung's mouth next.

"He will keep our kiss safe," he says under his breath as if he is sharing a secret. "Until tomorrow."

The bus driver honks impatiently and Jisung climbs on the bus, the doors closing before Chenle can do anything close to protesting. He sees Jisung moving further inside, walking in between standing people, his lips moving with something Chenle thinks is an apology before he comes face to face with Jisung's head sticking out of the bus window, eyes on him and the plushie he just left to Chenle's care in the form of the most impossible promise.

_ "Meet me, you know where!"  _ are the last words Chenle catches before the bus leaves him behind, a dust cloud rising from the street and clouding Chenle's vision into the night, sticking into his eyes and making them sting. It oddly feels like another shake of a snow globe,  _ his  _ snow globe cosmos, dull, brown specks this time instead of glimmering ones dancing around him before they settle and Chenle left behind for one more night, with a promise in his hands and a question left unanswered.

He starts walking home and it's a long way — full of dust and a concerning lack of lampposts — but when he is home, pizza poppers on the coffee table and his thumbs on the PS4 controller, he reminds himself of what exactly tonight was.

A game.

And when Crash Bandicoot finds his inevitable death and respawns right in front of Chenle's eyes, he thinks that in games, every fall out means a chance to try again and that every chance to try again leads to victory.

And if tonight taught him anything, is that Jisung looks the prettiest after a win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, you can find me [here](https://twitter.com/yeekiies) !!

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me [here](https://twitter.com/yeekiies) !!!!


End file.
